Exotic Fair of a Wandering Muse

2010 EPIC Award Winner! Coming Together: Against the Odds

Angela Caperton — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 01:24:00 GMT

I am very pleased that Coming Together: Against the Odds has won the 2010 EPIC eBook Award for the Best Erotica/Erotic Romance anthology!

This outstanding collection of erotica contains mystery themed stories from some of the best names in contemporary erotica, including Teresa Noelle Roberts, Kathleen Bradean, Breena Lyons, Alicia Night Orchid, with an introduction by the incomparable Maxim Jakubowski.

I am very pleased that my story "Under a Moving Star" is in this anthology. The proceeds from the sale of Coming Together: Against the Odds go to Autism Speaks.

Congratulations to all 2010 EPIC Award winners, and especially to Coming Together: Against the Odds editor Alyssia Brio, and to my fellow contributors!

Drake is Guest Blogging at Frequently Felt

Angela Caperton — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 01:43:00 GMT

Big thanks to M. Christian, author and editor of smart erotica and keeper of three blogs, Imagination is Intelligence with an Erection, Meine Kleine Fabrik , and Frequently Felt.

MC found my partner Drake’s Tumblr blog, Drake’s Way, and they began to trade emails. He asked Drake if he would write something and Drake contributed a fun entry on bondage pulps and Wonder Woman. You can read it here.

Also today, one of Drake’s pictures got picked up and linked on Eros Blog (second time for this - thanks, Bacchus), one of the finest and most eclectic erotica sites on the web.

I should have some exciting news of my own to share in the next few days, but for right now, it's all about Drake and his eye for pulpy art!

Coming Soon - SPRINGS

Angela Caperton — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 01:41:00 GMT

All authors have favorite children. I am no different, and I am absolutely thrilled that one of my fondest creations, "Springs," is about to be released into the world! "Springs" is hot and, I think, the very best horror story I've written.

I've been guarding "Springs" like a sexy, twisted mother hen, and I am pleased to announce that my publisher, Drollerie, will be releasing it in just a few days! Today was a milestone - I received the cover art!

Trust me, you'll be hearing more about "Springs" once it's released, but here's a sneak peak at one of my favorites!

Cherie composes music and sound effects for cutting edge video horror games. Pretty, sexy and driven, she chafes against being a girl in the man’s world of game design. When an accident opens up an opportunity to compose the music for the next hit video game, Cherie grabs the brass ring with both hands. Up against a hard deadline, she finds inspiration in an antique music box, but the box sings her into a world of erotic nightmares that transcend time and flesh…

"Playing the Market" in Fast Girls: Erotica for Women

Angela Caperton — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 01:28:00 GMT

I am thrilled to announce that just this evening I signed the contracts for my erotic short story "Playing the Market" to appear in the upcoming Cleis anthology Fast Girls: Erotica for Women, edited by the wonderful Rachel Kramer Bussel!

Look for it in bookstores and at online retailers in July 2010!

When the financial downturn wipes out Jessie's fortune, she takes matters into her own hands. Little does she know, more than her hands will be very, very full...

"Playing the Market"
by Angela Caperton
in
Fast Girls: Erotica for Women
Available July 2010

"Caveat Emptor"

Angela Caperton — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 17:52:00 GMT

Caveat emptor - Let the buyer beware.

"Caveat Emptor" was one of the first stories I sold as a result of the wonderful Calls for Submissions posted on the ERWA. I sold this story to a web magazine called Thaneros which, sadly, has since closed its doors. This was one of my first stories without a romantic element and I honestly enjoyed indulging my dark side more than I thought I would. I hope you like it too. ~Angela

"Caveat Emptor"
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2008

Brennus smelled her perfume all the way down in the pit, the Empress up in her box beside her toad of a husband. Ranging along the side of the throne, the Empress’ female servants stood, eclipsed by her glory, their beauty a reflection of their mistress, lush leaves to frame the empire’s flower. Together, they were the most beautiful women in all the world, but it was the Empress who watched Brennus with shadowed eyes, her luxurious hair like rich, dark fur, now curled and braided in an attractive styling, where only a few hours earlier it had flowed wild down her back, over her shoulders, teasing her nipples. He could not read the Empress' expression, but he trusted the scent that reminded him of her seductive words.

His arms and legs hung heavy as lead, the weight of the night's joy upon him in the bright Roman morning and the heat of the sun near the center of the sky took more strength than Brennus had to give.

The Empress sweated in the heat too, as she had in the night, and as sweet flowers reached down to Brennus and tickled his nose, her promises, made in the darkness of the rude stall where he slept, echoed in his memory.

"Please me," she whispered, "and you will not die."

The German might, of course, kill him in spite of the Empress' promise. There was little she could do if Brennus lost his head or his gut. The German was a master of the trident and he had half again Brennus' reach. Brennus knew his only hope would be to get inside the giant's span, within the circle of the trident and strike true.

He hefted his sword, shrugged his armguard into place and turned to meet the German, still drunk on the Empress' perfume and the memory of her flesh.

***

Brennus inhaled the scent of fresh straw and remembered the summertime of his tenth year, four years before the Romans came. The fields in Saxony smelled like this, the green grass drying in the sun when he hunted beside his father, whose own father had been a chief.

But then the Romans came and Brennus became a dog to pit against other dogs.

The arena keepers had scrubbed the stone of his stall and made a fresh straw pallet at the back of it. He gave the Romans their due. They were clean masters.

They weren't barbarians, he thought, and chuckled at his own wit.

Ten fights, six of them to the death, and Brennus had earned the gold and gratitude of a dozen of the richest men in the empire including, his trainer told him, the Emperor himself. Another fight, or another ten perhaps, and Brennus might buy his own freedom with the gratitude of sporting men.

Once free, he would return to Saxony, bury his face in the spring earth, and never leave his home again.

His keeper provided him a single chair and a small table where he ate. Sometimes they gave him wine and a whore, but never the night before a fight, so curiosity brought him to his feet when, at supper's end, the stall door opened and the soft whisper of silks reached him a moment before the achingly alluring scent of moonflowers.

In the smoky light from his little lamp she seemed a phantom made of fire mists, her robe gathering gold and spilling it down her in shimmering lines. The Patrician wore a mask that covered the upper half of her face, the countenance of the goddess Venus, white enamel, immaculate, but her plump red lips appeared even more inviting than the perfection of the mask.

Brennus had heard of such things -- noble ladies who visited the gladiators. He rose and bowed, feet apart, his hard chest swelling with breath. He hardly dared look at her and he was conscious of being almost naked before her, clad only in his trunks. He had the tunic that slaves wore when the trainers took them to the market or to a tavern, but the Patrician stood inside his room between him and the chest that held the garment.

She stopped in front of him, close, her breasts brushing his bare chest a hand's breadth below his nipples. Her scent filled his senses, a sensual mixture of flower and musk. The feverish heat of her skin turned his blood thick in his veins. Such skin, perfect and pale, he struggled to restrain his hand from sliding beneath her robe, thin as water.

The sheer cloth fell from her shoulder, flowed like molten gold over the taut, full breasts, pooled around her lush hips, then fell down long, tapered legs. She intoxicated him, his gaze traveling over her, feasting, his mouth watering as he fixed upon the dark triangle between her legs. She leaned close, almost touching him, naked and warm, a goddess Brennus yearned to worship.

Sweat beaded in the hollow of her neck, below the edge of her white mask, glistening on her breasts like oil. Brennus drew a deep breath and her nipples brushed him, sending a jolt of desire straight to his cock.

She gestured to him and stretched her arms high over her head, the unmistakable invitation to free his desire.

He touched her hip tentatively. He had never touched a woman so smooth. She caught his wrist and he did not flinch but let her guide him, moving his hand to her cunt, wet with want.

"Fuck me," she murmured, her voice husky with lust. "And I will set you free."

Brennus hesitated, watching her. He did not move.

"Trust me, Brennus, I am the only woman in the empire with enough influence to do what I promise. Could I have come here without such power?”

She traced a finger over his chest, the lazy path over his collar bone, down his chest to circle a nipple, burned all his hesitations away in a flame of white-hot lust.

She peeled his trunks down his hips, kissed his stomach as she knelt and when she found his cock, she seized it in long fingers, stroked it, base to tip, worshipping him. Her lips found the head and lapped the pearl she’d summoned and the shock of pleasure that surged through him forced him to leash his desire before he came on her face. She rose, still holding him in her hand, pumping his rock hard cock until it jumped and pulsed in her palm.

She raised her leg so that her thigh pressed against his waist and she guided him into her. No more hesitation, no more concern, Brennus thrust hard and deep, her gasp of surprised pleasure burned in his blood and he drove all the way into her, hot and wet and whole.

She bucked against him as they sought rhythm, the strokes discordant and violent, his arms holding her against him, her legs encircling his back, her fingers locked around his neck. She moaned, a keening mixture of fear and wonderment, then her body stiffened, her teeth found purchase on his shoulder, sharp and true, and she gushed around him, her body shuddering in pleasure as an orgasm cascaded through her. He didn’t stop, his thrust sure, the added slickness of her swollen cunt a marvel to move within. Brennus pumped, his cock pulsing, the pleasure growing at the base of it, his balls slapping against her ass has they moved together. He thrust and she rose and settled until he filled her entirely, their matched pace driving them toward the very edge of the world.

The molten sheath of her cunt locked around him as she growled and thrust, matching his rhythm. She thrashed, her hands gripping his shoulders and back, nails branding him, tearing him as he ground into her. He ceased to feel for a moment, gone in her heat and in all he had given to her, to Rome, then he came, shots of liquid fire that blinded him and turned the world to light.

The scent of summer sweat and moonflowers engraved the moment upon his soul. Her breasts stuck to him when they pulled apart but she kept him trapped in her cunt, thrusting her hips against his in slow possession.

"Do you know who I am?' she asked him.

"You are Venus."

She laughed, like chimes in a cool breeze. "No. I am a woman who enjoys herself," she said. "Tomorrow I will sit beside my lord the Emperor when you fight. If you win, I will have him set you free and if you lose, I will tell him to spare your life."

Brennus moved in slow rhythm against her, his cock already stirring. "I will win," he told her.

"But tonight," she said. "Tonight I win."

She gripped him, rolling his hardened cock in waves of growing heat. She pulled him to her, slick with sweat, and he claimed her lips sweet as pomegranates. He tasted every inch of her – salty shoulders, plump breasts, the erotic taste of their mixed pleasure as his tongue brought her to screaming orgasm before he filled her with his demanding cock.

They fucked till dawn and she woke the sun with her screams.

***

Dust filled Brennus’ nose and the iron tang of his own blood coated his tongue.

He lay at the feet of the German, too slow, too near the edge of the trident's deadly circle. But he was not badly hurt, a broken rib or two, his right arm torn and bleeding but not broken. He would heal.

He looked up at the Empress, at a face so lovely, divine, Venus incarnate, breathing, no mask to hide her glory.

Her eyes no longer lay in shadow and yet they held no emotion, no concern, as if she did not know him. She tossed her head and laughed at something one of her servants said, a beautiful young woman with hair the same shining brown and breasts that peaked in the light cloth of her dress.

The maidservant leaned close to the empress, her gaze fixed on Brennus, the smile one of intimate delight.

The Empress did not look at him, but laughed as she spoke to the Emperor. With one hand raising a goblet of wine to his lips, the Emperor gestured, his gaze already locked on the gate where the next fighters would emerge.

Thumbs down.

The German's trident punctured Brennus like a bladder, his life gone suddenly wet and ragged, not even leaving him breath to scream.

Through a veil of black and red, Brennus watched the Empress' maidservant, beautiful, her dark hair free about her shoulders, adorning the peaks of her breasts, her smile merciless as she held out her hands to the robed man on the Emperor's left.

And in those fingers that had stroked his cock to life, she held golden coins, the last glimmers of light before darkness claimed his world.

- END -
Copyright 2008 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Drake on Tumblr

Angela Caperton — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 02:07:00 GMT

(While I'm busy writing sexy stories, my wonderful partner in all things, Drake, graciously wrote about Tumblr! Enjoy! ~AC)

Drake here.

Angela is kind enough to give me a little space to write about Tumblr and my activity on it. At its simplest, Tumblr is a hybrid of social cyber networking like Twitter and basic blogging. By some estimates, Tumblr has two million users now and has apparently become a useful PR medium for some artists.

The flexibility of the site allows easy upload of words, art, music and links in a cascade of images and words that are displayed on each user’s “dashboard.” Like other social media, you choose who to “follow” and whatever they post will appear on your display when you log onto the site. You can add images or just “re-Tumble”

the things other people post. It’s like Twitter but (at least the way I use it) far more visual.

For someone like me, obsessed with vintage imagery, films, and obscure history, Tumblr is paradise, a streaming panorama of amazing pictures that you can tune to your desire and taste.

My Tumblr stream, Drake's Way, is eclectic and revealing, a carousel of bizarre and diverse things that have caught my attention. I upload a lot to Tumblr too, scans of old books and magazines mostly that form part of the archives that collects dust around here and that occasionally fuels one of Angela’s stories.

For me, Tumblr is an especially rich source of odd old photos that are like windows into the unseen world of our parents and grandparents and even further back. Right now, Tumblr is the best free fun I know of on the internet, a good way to lose hours in the pursuit of visual intoxication.

GIRL CRUSH and Other News

Angela Caperton — Sat, 16 Jan 2010 19:23:00 GMT

It's been a see-saw week, but I love that in the end, I came out on the plus side! I've had an acceptance, a rejection, and announced publication date! Yep, good news wins out!

First, I am thrilled to announce that my short story "The Boiling Sea" has been accepted by Circlet Press to appear in their upcoming anthology Like a Vorpal Blade. I originally submitted "TBS" in response to Circlet's call for an erotic themed Alice in Wonderland anthology, and was flattered to hear from the editor that "TBS" helped in their decision to produce two Alice anthologies - Like a Knave of Hearts, and Like a Vorpal Blade.

"The Boiling Sea" is set in 1969, and recounts a few days in the life of Vietnam Veteran Tom Rimer when he joins an acting troupe staging a psychedelic version of Alice in Wonderland. Sexual and dark, "The Boiling Sea" places Wonderland in the context of the world of LSD and Charles Manson. Look for Like a Vorpal Blade later this year from Circlet Press! (Psst! Want to read an excerpt from my story "The Coming Age" in Circlet's Like a Corset Undone? Click here!)

I am also really thrilled that my short story "Skinny Dipping" will be in the Cleis anthology Girl Crush, edited by R. Gay, and that the release date will by May or June 2010! Look at this cover! Is it not incredible?

I will be sharing sheets with some great erotica authors. Look at this line up.

Introduction Diana Cage
Great Lengths Rachel Kramer Bussel
Mirador Teresa Lamai
Craving Madeline Shanna Germain
Call Me Cleopatra Gabrielle Foster
Skinny Dipping Angela Caperton
The Things I Can Do For Her David Erlewine
I Told A Stranger All About You Yesterday Vanessa Vaughn
Cut & Dry Heidi Champa
Cecily Kris Adams
The Leopard Print Menace Melissa Gira
The Bachelorette Julia Peters
Girl in a Gorilla Suit Lori Selke
The Out-of-Towner Delilah Devlin
Rebel Girl Kirsty Logan
The Best Kind of Revenge Geneva King
One Eighty Carrie Cannon
Running Away and Running Home Again Annabeth Leong
An Introduction G.G. Royale
Seduction by Proxy Evan Mora
Discovering Donnie Cheyenne Blue
Good Neighbors Jennifer Geneva
Girl Crazy Gina de Vries
Psychology 101 R. Gay

Look for Girl Crush from Cleis when the weather starts heating up!

Also, hey! Read my story "Life Model" in Out of the Gutter #6. It is now available here.

Stay sexy, folks! More news as it happens...

New Year, New News!

Angela Caperton — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 03:15:00 GMT

The new decade has arrived, and with it, some news. Okay, some of it is not so new, but what the hell!

I would again like to point folks to the podcast of “Calendar Girl” from Peep Show is on Nobilis Erotica. I am honored by his selection of my story to end his 2009 podcast year, and I am giddy from some of the comments the story has garnered.

And hey, if you want to listen to kink at work (Earbuds, folks! Remember to use earbuds, not speakers!) on your mp3 player, Nobilis Erotica is a good place to start!

I am also thrilled that Out of the Gutter #6 is available in some locations now, and always available to order on line here. This sexploitation issue includes my story “Life Model,” which is a kind of companion piece to “Calendar Girl.”

As some of you may know, I have been dipping my toes into the horror genre, and recently one of my stories has been selected to appear in the British anthology, “Elements of Horror.” Details on this are coming soon.

Also, I just finished reading the galley for my story “Lawman” that will appear in the Circlet superhero anthology “Like a Mask Removed”, so the release should be soon! I’m really looking forward to having “Lawman” out in the world.

And then there’s “Springs”. I heard from my publisher, and she’s hoping to have “Springs” ready for February. I really, really am excited about this erotic horror novella, and I hope my readers who like darker tales will enjoy this one.

The year has barely begun and I hope to have lots more to tell you as we move toward spring.

"Calendar Girl" as a Podcast on Nobilis Erotica!

Angela Caperton — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 21:24:00 GMT

I am absolutely thrilled to announce that my story "Calendar Girl" from the voyeur/exhibitionist anthology Peep Show, is now available as a podcast from Nobilis Erotica!

Find the podcast here. (Check it out! Nobilis has an iPhone app.)

I was so excited when Nobilis contacted me Christmas Eve to ask if he could do a podcast of "Calendar Girl" and am completely impressed by the fact that he got it posted in just three days!

Thanks again to Nobilis for this opportunity to present my work in audio, and also to the editor of Peep Show, the fantastic Rachel Kramer Bussel.

This isn't the first time Nobilis has given my stories voice - literally! You can hear an excerpt of my Eppie winning erotic fantasy Woman of the Mountain here.

Good listening everyone!

(Also, you can find Nobilis' story "Glass" in Peep Show as well, and read an interview with him here.)

A Gift for Santa

Angela Caperton — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Happy Holidays! I hope you enjoy this little holiday romp!

A Gift for Santa
Copyright 2009 Angela Caperton

One year as Christmas Eve drew near
My husband said, “Consider, dear,”
How hard old Santa works to bring
His gifts and toys and everything;
Displays of thoughtful, loving care --
The least a man can do is share.”

“This year instead of treats and milk
I’ll leave you bound with ribbon silk,
And let the old elf take his play
With my Mary’s winsome way.
What say you, sweet wife of mine?
Shall this be Mary Christmas time?”

“Of course,” I said, “If I can aid
Santa Claus in his yearly trade,
Then bind me with red ribbon silk
Around my body pale as milk,
And leave me for the Christmas elf,
And I may get a gift myself!”

So, upon that pre-Yule night,
Hubby tied me nice and tight,
Spread beneath the Christmas tree,
Offered up for Kris to see,
Bare above and bare below
Except a silken, scarlet bow.

Dependable as egg nog rum,
Down the chimney St Nick come,
Looked about for milk and cookie
Spied instead the offered nookie,
Laid a finger ‘side his nose
And quickly doffed his Santa clothes.

I have to say I had not thunk
That Santa would be such a hunk.
Driving sleighs must give him strength;
His beard is not his only length,
Nor is his frisky, agile tongue,
No, by the chimney, he was hung!

With lips and teeth he loosed my bow
While whiskers tickled down below
His feasting made me cry with joy
A gift much nicer than a toy.
Then leaving me still silken tied,
Santa showed me how to ride.

‘Round the world in a single night
Oh how we made the treetops light!
Dasher, dancer, prancer, dear,
A comet I saw crystal clear!
Bright blitzen, hot and flashing high,
And donner in our coupled cry.

They say there’s magic in the Yule
Midwinter time, bright spirits rule.
And there was I, the offering
To guarantee the gift of spring.
With mischief in his twinkling eye
Santa kissed my clit goodbye.

Then giving me a single rose,
He donned again his wooly clothes.
Paused beside the dark fireplace
A naughty grin upon his face.
“Now you and hubby please yourselves,
And next year I may bring my elves.”

Then up the chimney he did go,
And I lay bound in afterglow,
Till hubby came and me untied
Took me up like a new bride,
And we made love in every way
To celebrate our Christmas Day.

Copyright 2009 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Peep Show Interview!

Angela Caperton — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 23:15:00 GMT

I've had such a great time with Peep Show, and I'm thrilled that my interview is now available! Check it out - and my post "Visually Aroused" about the inspiration for "Calendar Girl" here.

And, hey, I can't pass up the opportunity to promote the great trailer the editor, Rachel Kramer Bussel made for Peep Show.

Enjoy!

Trailer for PEEP SHOW!

Angela Caperton — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 19:02:00 GMT

One of the joys I've had this fall has been working with Rachel Kramer Bussel, the editor for the soon to be released Peep Show anthology, on promoting this unique collection of erotic short stories that focus on voyeurism and exhibitionism.

Not long ago, Rachel went into the streets of New York to film a book trailer for Peep Show. It was put up on YouTube just the other day, and I was absolutely thrilled to see that Rachel used an excerpt from my short story "Calendar Girl" in the trailer!

Check out the trailer, and a big thanks to Rachel, all the actors, and Ida for use of the music!

And Rachel, you look great in roses...

(editor's note)

Peep Show is now available from Amazon! Check out the customer reviews!

How about a Kiss? How about a LOT of Kisses?

Angela Caperton — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 00:50:00 GMT

Not too long ago on the Erotica Readers and Writers Association mail lists, a challenge was put out by the wonderful and sexy Remittance Girl, to write stories or poems about - you got it - kisses.

The only restriction other than the typical taboos - No BIP (Bestiality, Incest, Pedophilia) - was that it had to be under 1,000 words. RG took the entries and collected them into a free anthology available on the ERWA website.

I wrote a poignant short story called "Last Kiss". A Slip of the Lip is available for free download here. I hope you enjoy my offering, and all the other kisses from the ERWA writers!

Also in news, it looks like Out of the Gutter #6 is close to publication! Look for this great indie pulp mag the end of this year (pre-orders available soon) and I hope you enjoy my story "Life Model" in this great Sexploitation edition!

More later on the upcoming Halloween promotion!

Creepy-Crawly? NOT in My House!!

Angela Caperton — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 02:51:00 GMT

I have a confession to make.

I am quite prejudiced about….bugs.

Most bugs, well, I don’t like them – flat out. There’s just something incredibly creepy about their hard shell and their ichor, and the fact that their presence in my cupboards makes me feel like an utter failure as a house keeper (yeah, I know…like the trail of discarded shoes stretching from the front door to my office isn’t the first give-a-way that Monk and I are not related).

I’m okay with butterflies and moths. I think praying mantises are exceedingly cool. Ladybugs? Fun until they devour my herbs. Caterpillars, another cool critter, but then they are by extension part of the Butterfly Club®.

That about does it. After that, everything else is fair game for unadulterated dislike/hatred/fear.

Topping the list of bugs I don’t like – ants. I have good reason though – I am highly sensitive to fire-ant bites. Might come from tap dancing on a nest at age 2, but whatever the reason, they sting, I have issues. I’m not quite at eppy-pin stage, but unfortunately, I’m probably only one or two incidences away from taping one to the back of my Blackberry. Ants I will smash/spray/flood/burn – whatever it takes to get rid of them. I don’t care if they’re fire ants or not – they cannot, will not, occupy the same space as I do without serious consequences!

A close second – cockroaches/palmetto bugs. I hate them, hate them, hate them!! They totally creep me out, and living in the south and in the country, they are EVERYWHERE! I can’t even go into how much the freak/creep me out. They are the one bug I will leap onto furniture to avoid any possibility of contact. In fact…I can’t strike them to kill them. I just can’t! They might not die! They might…GASP live and attack!! It’s horrible.

Cockroaches are a reason to call my lover, call my parents, siblings, neighbors, hell complete strangers – to DEAL with them! Yuck!

But…in a pinch…well, a can of Raid and a BIG mouthed jar (to keep the palmetto bug RIGHT where I can see it!) works wonders – after anywhere between 5 and 10 minutes of tabletop dancing… What can I say? I’m a writer! Drama is part of my psyche.

But then there’s the spiders.

Spiders. Really, they challenge me. As I said, I live in the country. Spiders are everywhere – outside. Outside is good! Orb weavers are amazing creatures that spin webs that would make Charlotte green with envy, but we also have Brown Recluse spiders that don’t just bite, they freaking dissolve your flesh!

I don’t mind little spiders in my house. Hey, they help keep the other bugs in check – but bigger spiders – nickel-sized or larger – have NO place here!

So, as it is I have one – an agile, fleshy thing that could stretch across a half-dollar from leg-tip to leg-tip – and he’d taken up residence in my spare room right in front of my vacuum cleaner! Wily critter. He was keeping me from the instrument of its demise. The standoff has begun…

But Fate is a funny thing. On Twitter, one of my friends is horror photographer Amanda Norman – a fellow horror lover, AND, as I learned, Spider-Slayer extraordinaire!

She has suggested the Mop Technique, but for me, I will substitute a broom.

Alas, the wily spider, sensing his impending doom, has disappeared.

My Broom Technique is yet untested…but I am…hopeful.

Stay tuned on Twitter for updates!

Dark Angels VI: Anita Berber

Angela Caperton — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 19:08:00 GMT

Reverently, truly,
We are blessed to dance
All that withers the songs of men.
So arises our revelry
From vices – ecstasy and horror
Unconscious and superior, our steps before vanity’s mirror
Not a dance of reason, but the sharpest, refined shattering,
Divine, insensate steps to the sounds of this alien world.

-Anita Berber and Sebastian Droste
(translation by Drake)

So you think we have celebrity bad girls now? Brittany, Paris, and their sisters are amateurs compared to Anita Berber.

In Weimar Berlin in the 20s, where modern vice was practically invented, Anita was the most scandalous dancer and cabaret performer in a world that worshipped excess. Androgynous and hypersexual, Anita gained fame for her frequently naked performances on German stages in dances celebrating drug addiction, madness, and debauchery. She counted among her lovers Marlene Dietrich, the novelist Lawrence Durrell, Magnus Hirschfeld (the father of sexology), actor Conrad Veidt, and the king of Yugoslavia. She made a few films, notably playing a dancer in Fritz Lang’s masterpiece Mabuse der Spieler.

For her, the world was a stage and her presence upon it depended upon her ability to shock her peers out of the depressing lethargyof everyday existence. In Berlin in the 20s, anything was possible, sex was celebrated, and the only sin was mundanity. Anita was the dark goddess of a society striving desperately to invent the new morality of a damned century. She sometimes appeared in public nude under fur, carrying a pet monkey, out of her senses on cocaine or hashish, open to propositions of any kind.

As is so often the case, this goddess came to a wicked end. Anita’s downfall was her primary lover, dance partner, and nemesis, Sebastian Droste, effeminate, bisexual, and monstrous in his abilities to lie, cheat, and steal. She seems to have loved him, though perhaps that love was only another embrace of destruction. Droste’s craziness surpassed hers and he effectively guided her career into ruin.

A world like Weimar Berlin cannot last and, as the decade of the 20s danced to its globally depressing conclusion, Anita Berber found herself unable to work, addicted to drink and drugs, her girlish appeal turning coarse and exhausted.

She died at 29 in 1928 and is largely forgotten today, but somewhere, in the place the darkest angels dance, I hope Anita Berber has found her ecstasy and, if it pleases her, her horror.

What I Like - Newport Folk Festival

Angela Caperton — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 14:29:00 GMT

Freedom.

Funny word. It means so many different things, really, depending on who’s using it.

I’ll try not to get too political here, because what I really want to talk about is music, but it’s hard to write about Newport, Rhode Island, without getting into philosophy and, inevitably, politics.

Newport, like the colony of Rhode Island, was founded on the principles of freedom – not your Puritanical, witch-hanging kind of freedom, but real freedom. Nothing speaks more to the history of Newport than its sprawling Common Burial Ground, where white and black colonists were buried together from the late 17th Century onward. Newport welcomed colonial Jews and freethinkers at a time when only pillories or worse awaited them elsewhere in the brave new land.

But Newport’s license bred pirates and eventually slave traders, inverting the early ideal into new tyrannies. By the middle of the 19th Century, Newport had become the summer home of men who made the worst pirates look like petty thieves, the robber barons of the great age of capital growth in America, when employees were regarded as chattel and fortunes were made on the bent backs of workers. Newport’s mansions rise like mushrooms on the grave of laissez faire capitalism, restored now so anyone who can afford a ticket can walk among the rubble of gilded memories.

Flash forward to from the 1890s to 1959. The sons and daughters of old-line American liberalism have rediscovered the music of the masses. Woody Guthrie, Okie bard and hard (fellow) traveler, spawned a generation of troubadours, fed by folklorists and the roots of the twin rising giants of country-western music and rock and roll. African American music, Irish immigrant tunes, labor organizing songs, blues, Appalachian murder ballads – these earnest youngsters were playing the music at the heart of the American experience.

In 1957, under the guidance of George Wein and Pete Seeger, folk music found its stage in Newport against the wall of a 19th century fort. Traditional musicians were joined by commercial artists like Joan Baez and Judy Collins. A few years later at Newport, Bob Dylan re-invented folk music and evolved it into electrical poetry. The folk explosion of the late 50s faded fast but its influence ran deep through the hippy culture of the late 60s and into the liberal populism that still dominates the left wing of American politics.

This year marks the 50th Anniversary of the Newport Folk Festival and the event was a celebration not only of American music, but of the very principles that make America an ideal of freedom. Pete Seeger, unredeemed populist and tireless campaigner for free speech and social reform, is still going strong at 90, and his spirit dominated the two-day event. Other veterans of the fest -- Joan Baez, Rambling Jack Elliott, Arlo Guthrie, Mavis Staples, and Judy Collins – appeared onstage to remind a crowd of 10,000 music lovers that age does not dim the messages of tolerance and compassion that the folk movement of the 50s often embodied. Some of the clusters of blanket-sitting listeners must have spanned four generations of music-lovers.

But the 50th fest was much more than just a nostalgic reunion of old compadres. American music is undergoing a shift back to lyrical forms and the real stars of the fest were the young bands and performers who are taking up the torch, infusing popular music with meaning and intelligence. David Rawlings and Gillian Welch played an amazing set, mixing new songs with old. The Decemberists, brilliantly inventive, musically diverse, and grounded in a humanistic (if bizarre) ethos, delivered a stunning set on the first day of the fest. The Fleet Foxes brought their astonishing harmonies and poetic words to a reverent crowd. Josh Ritter played a Sunday morning set that approached religious dimensions. His muted performance of his song “Girl in the War” held thousands of listeners in a spell of attentive, reflective rapture.

In the waters of Narragansett Bay, circling the fort, while the show unfolded, the moneyed citizens of Newport gathered their yachts close enough to hear the music. Never mind the irony of people in million dollar boats “stealing” music, they were part of the magic and if Billy Bragg’s blatant Socialism or Pete Seeger’s message of brotherhood reached them even a little, they were more than welcome in the fire circle. They were, after all, brothers and sisters in the tribe of man.

Newport may be the quietest music festival on earth, the crowd truly there to hear the music. And maybe the real lesson of the festival is in the audience's attentive silence, respectful of the music and the musicians. Maybe that’s where freedom really lives. In an age where communication is too often used to polarize and alienate, when discourse has been replaced by smug pundits telling their guests to “shut up,” maybe what we need is just a little silence, to hear each other talk.

And sing.

(If you want to hear some of the great performances from the Festival, check out NPR's coverage for the Festival)

What I Like - Comics: Madame Xanadu

Angela Caperton — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 20:37:00 GMT

Madame Xanadu, by Matt Wagner, Amy Reeder Hadley, and Richard Friend.
Vertigo, 240 pages, softcover, $12.99.

This “graphic novel” collects the first 10 issues of a Vertigo comic book series about an enchantress. Written by veteran Matt Wagner and illustrated by astonishing newcomer Amy Reeder Hadley, Madame X continues Vertigo’s tradition of publishing fine, innovative comics that tell complex and compelling stories.

Madame Xanadu is the nymph sorceress Nimue of Arthurian legend, Merlin’s lover and ultimate betrayer. She has been a citizen of the “DC Universe” for decades, a tarot reading magic-wielder who has narrated spooky stories or played small roles in superhero epics. Wagner has used the character here much as Alan Moore used Swamp Thing and Neil Gaiman used Sandman, to make the familiar trappings of DC comics the stage for a grander fantasy, while dealing with big human issues like love and responsibility.

Each of the five chapters in Madame X is set in a different historical place – ancient Britain, Kublai Khan’s palace, Revolutionary France, London in 1888, and New York on the brink of World War II. Wagner’s use of historical detail is meticulous and enhances each story without overwhelming it. In each era, as Madame X travels toward the future one day at a time, she encounters a being (the Phantom Stranger, another relatively obscure DC comic book character) who seems to transcend time and whose fate and hers entwine in various ways, sometimes with tragic outcomes that are for “the greater good.”

My only complaint about Wagner’s story is that it relies so heavily on an assumed knowledge of its readers’ familiarity with almost 50 years of comic book continuity that an audience that might love this book would never understand it. Like its best contemporaries (Brubaker’s comics for Marvel, Grant Morrison’s for DC), Madame X is a comic book primarily for comic book fans, which is a shame in some ways. Much as I love comics, too many of the best of them suffer from the weight of their “universes.” The success of a comic book like The Watchmen, both commercially and as a work of creative art, owes much to its freedom from the bonds of convention, expectation, and familiarity.

On the graphic side, I had never seen Amy Reeder Hadley's art before this volume and I am now officially her fan. Although her style is uniquely her own, one can see elements in it of manga, classic American comics, and fine art illustration. Her layouts are beautiful and innovative and lovingly depict the locales of each story with a line and shadow suitable to the place and tone. She has truly extraordinary talent and I can’t wait to see her next project.

A Follow-up (see original post here):

The Unwritten, by Mike Carey and Peter Gross. Monthly series from Vertigo.

This excellent series is three issues old now and continues to be the most entertaining comic I buy. Issue #3 is of special interest to connoisseurs of horror for a scene set in the Villa Deodati, the house where the Frankenstein monster was conceived, featuring a symposium of assembled horror writers. Each of the writers represents a different type of horror and their debate is sharp, satirical, and funny. The Unwritten, more than any comic I can remember reading, even Gaiman’s Sandman, examines the very nature of storytelling in a smart, engaging way that manages to be both light and profound. No small feat.

Dark Angels V: Erzsebet Bathory - Part II

Angela Caperton — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 02:44:00 GMT

Again, here is my good friend Theresa Elizabeth Bathory with Part II of the Dark Angel entry on Elizabeth Bathory!

Help me, O Clouds.
O Clouds, stay by me.
Let no harm come to me.
Let me remain healthy and invincible.

Send, O send, you powerful Clouds, ninety cats.
I command you, O King of the Cats, I pray you.
May you gather them together,
even if you are in the mountains,
or on the waters,
or on the roofs,
or on the other side of the ocean.
May these ninety cats appear to tear and destroy
the hearts
of kings and princes,
And in the same way
the hearts
of teachers and judges,
so they shall harm me not.
Holy Trinity, protect me.

~Prayer Erzsabet Bathory kept on her until her death

Bathory, the name holds so much mystery, darkness, and sadistic vampirism but is her reputation deserved? In part one of my essay on the Countess I reviewed the “historical” account and legend that is generally accepted as “fact.” In this part I will offer an alternative theory on the infamous, yet little known, Erzsabet Bathory.

Unfortunately, no one can prove this theory because the official court transcripts and documents are still locked away by the Hungarian government, which raises curiosity and suspicion as to why. All we know comes from accounts by those who attended the trials and their accounts are suspect as well as most were on the side of the prosecution.

We do know from their accounts that the witnesses all gave fantastic accounts of torture, sadism, and “witchcraft”. Those who were prosecuted, and some who testified, were, by spectator’s accounts, tortured, meaning that the interrogations must have been harsh enough to be apparent even to observers. This has to raise doubt then as to the validity of the testimony given.

The infamous register that was testified to by Zusanna that recorded the number of victims killed and the manner of each death was never introduced as evidence because no one knew the whereabouts of the document. It could not be produced and the contents of this register only exist as testimony from a tortured defendant.

Let’s look at that number of victims -- purportedly from 600 to 650 maidens. Consider that, in 1526, shortly before the Battle of Mohacs, the total population of all the Hungarian territories taken together (including Transylvania and Croatia) amounted to 3,500,00 – 4,000,000. The country had some 30-35 royal free cities (civitates) that comprised about 100,000 inhabitants. Besides, these there were some 800-850 rather agrarian oppida that were controlled by feudal lords, Given the average number of their inhabitants did not exceed 500-600*1 one can see the impact 600 to 650 maidens’ deaths would have. We are talking about the population of an entire area in less than a 20 year period.

Consider also the fact that Erzsabet was not allowed to attend either of her own two trials; she was not allowed even to submit testimony by writing and, even then, was not found guilty at either trial. Subsequent attempts to bring her to trial by King Matthias II were met with opposition by the Bathorys and finally Erzsabet was walled up in her bedroom with a slit large enough to pass food through to her.

So then what other reason then would there be to try and imprison her if she was not the mass-serial killer she was charged with being? Let us consider Erzsabet herself. First she was a woman who headed the most powerful family in Eastern Europe. As a family head, she was successful – she increased the Bathory’s holdings three-fold. She was an intelligent woman and well spoken by all accounts, able to speak and read three languages when most of the aristocracy could not even write their own names. She was widowed and beautiful; in short she was a threat to the male-dominated patriarch of the times.

Just as other powerful women in history have been maligned (Cleopatra purportedly gave head to Caesar’s entire legion in one night and Catherin the Great was said to have slept with her horse), it is not hard to imagine that Erzsabet Bathory was also victim to the same slanderous and scandalous attacks. There is another reason, as well, one that is extremely compelling. The King of Hungary, King Matthias II, owed the Bathory family more money than he could ever hope to repay and Erzabet, and her family, were next in line to the throne. Stefan Bathory was king of Poland (1575-1586) and considered one of Poland’s greatest kings and is still considered a hero.

If Erzsabet Bathory had been found guilty of the crimes with which she was charged, especially witchcraft, all her holdings would have become property of the crown. This would have eliminated Matthias’s debt to the Bathory’s and also helped to ensure his throne’s safety from the family. By removing Erzsabet, by imprisoning her in the castle’s room, the Bathory family might have stopped further repeated attempts by the King to bring her to trial.

Does this mean she was innocent? Perhaps not, since her alleged murder of peasants was the type of act the aristocracy could get away with without fear of punishment. Was it possible that she was as history has depicted her? Yes, but is it probable? We will likely never really know and, because of that, her legend is both infamous and compelling while the truth, as usual, may lie somewhere in between.

Devoid of all breath in the air
Even Death paled to compare
To the taint of Her splendour
So rare and engendered
'Pon the awed throng gathered
There...
~Beneath the Howling Stars – Cradle of Filth

*1 Urban Societies in East-Central Europe by Jaroslav Miller

What I Like - Music: Josh Ritter

Angela Caperton — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 01:57:00 GMT

Drake and I both love music. I like Loreena McKinnett, for instance, while his tastes run more to classic country, punk rock, and Stravinsky, so between us we cover a lot of melodic ground. But one taste we share is for lyrical songwriting accompanied by acoustic instruments – folk music for want of a better term.

The singer-songwriter tradition of American music has roots at least as deep as Stephen Foster and 20th Century masters like Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, Townes van Zandt, and many others, but the 21st Century is proving to be a new frontier for some very exciting songwriters. Our favorite is a 33-year-old native of Idaho named Josh Ritter. With five studio albums since 1999, Josh is neither prolific nor especially well-known, but we truly believe he is the best guy out there writing songs today. And he’s an amazing performer.

If you haven’t heard his music, probably the best place to start is with his 4th album, The Animal Years, although his 2nd, The Golden Age of Radio, is almost as fine. He writes about love, America, music, and other things far more surreal and brings a freshness and intelligence to every note and word.

Here are three of his more unusual performances from Youtube. I hope you enjoy them as much as we do.

Dark Angels IV: Erzsebet Bathory

Angela Caperton — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 12:36:00 GMT

For this issue of Dark Angels, I tapped a good friend of mine, Theresa, a web designer and a woman with a rich knowledge of this particular dark angel…

“She demanded the Heavens and forever to glean
The elixir of Youth from the pure
Whilst Her lesbian fantasies
Reamed to extremes
O'er decades unleashed
Came for blood's silken cure”
Bathory Aria ~ Cradle of Filth

When the topic of Dark Angels comes up there are many names that can come to mind, from the mythical Lilith and Baba Yaga to Lizzie Borden to Madame Blavatsky in modern times. Yet one name tends to stand above all the others as the darkest of these fascinating women – the Countess Erzsebet (Elizabeth) Bathory.

Many do not know her legend and fewer still know her history. The Guinness Book of World Records lists her as history’s most prolific serial killer with anywhere from 600 – 650 maidens her victims.

Little is actually known about Countess Bathory as none of her letters survived her. Erzsebet Bathory, was born in Hungary, August 7th, 1560, the daughter of Baron George Bathory and Baroness Anna Bathory. George and Anna were both Bathory’s by birth; he a member of the Ecsed branch of the family and she of the Somlyo. Such inbreeding was not uncommon in the aristocracy of 16th Century Eastern Europe, as the purity of the noble line was seen as paramount.

Her legend may have inspired Bram Stocker’s Dracula even more than the legend of Vlad the Impaler. Another Bathory - Stephen - fought alongside Vlad in one of his many attempts to reclaim the Wallachian throne and became Prince of Transylvania in 1571, so it is possible that Stoker encountered the Bathory’s during his research.

Elizabeth was a great beauty and at the age of eleven, she was engaged to Count Ferenc Nadasdy. Three years later they married. Elizabeth retained her maiden name, and Ferenc added it to his own less distinguished one, and became Ferenc Bathory-Nadasdy. After her marriage, Elizabeth was mistress of the Nadasdy estate around Castle Sarvar. Here the Nadasdy’s held a reputation as harsh masters. Ferenc is said to have shown her some of his own favored ways of punishing his servants. There are also tales of the couple engaging in diabolic rites and patronizing occultists and Satanists.

Ferenc was a warrior by nature, and frequently absent. Elizabeth occupied her time by taking numerous young men as lovers. She also spent time visiting her aunt, noted at the time for her open bisexuality, and contemporary reports seem to consider Elizabeth’s sexual ambivalence to be an integral part of her overall personality.

It was during her husband’s many absences that Elizabeth is reputed to have begun torturing young servant girls for her own pleasure, although speculation again has Ferenc as her early teacher in harsh treatment. Hearsay testimony at her trial reports she took to beating her maidservants with a barbed lash and a heavy cudgel, and having them dragged naked into the snow and doused with cold water until they froze to death creating statues from their frozen bodies.

In January 1604, Ferenc Nadasdy died of an infected battle wound, though some sources state that it was inflicted by a harlot whom he refused to pay. Elizabeth transferred herself to the royal court at Vienna with almost unseemly haste, and took to spending much time at her castle at Cachtice in north-west Hungary (now Slovakia).

This was the period in which Elizabeth is said to have committed her greatest atrocities, under the guidance of Anna Darvula, described as the most active sadist in her entourage. Alleged to be a witch Darvula was also said to be Elizabeth 's lover.

It was this time that legend tells us that she discovered, on striking a servant girl who accidentally pulled her hair whilst combing it, that blood appeared to reduce the signs of aging on her skin. Darvula purportedly told Elizabeth that bathing in the blood of young girls was the secret to staying young. Legend said that she also bit, to the point of tearing flesh from the throats, shoulders and breasts of these maidens. These acts were done in the course of lesbian acts of carnal indulgences while committing sadistic acts of violence.

Elizabeth's proclivities went largely undetected - or at least ignored - until around 1609 when Darvula had died of natural causes. Fearing that the blood of peasant maids was no longer “vital” enough to keep her youth she opened a school to maidens of noble blood but little wealth. The deaths of peasant girls might be overlooked, but the murder of nobles, even those of such limited means as those Elizabeth selected, lead to her downfall.

The King of Hungary ordered her arrest and her cousin, Count Cuyorgy Thurzo, lead a raid on Castle Cachtice and supposedly found the bodies of dead girls in the hallway, and discovered many other victims dead, dying, or awaiting torture in cells. Other accomplices of Elizabeth’s - Dorothea, Helena and Ficzko – were arrested, along with Katarina Beneczky, a washerwoman newly entered into the Countess' service. One more of Elizabeth’s friends, Erszi Majorova, escaped capture in the raid but was later also arrested. Elizabeth herself was held but not taken away with her associates.

In January 1611 Elizabeth's accomplices were subjected to two hurried show trials, in which they gave evidence, almost certainly extracted under torture, and were convicted of their heinous crimes in a matter of days. In the second trial, another servant named as Zusanna gave evidence of the existence of a register, in her mistress' handwriting, which recorded over 650 victims who had died at the Countess' hands over the years.

Elizabeth Bathory was not allowed to attend or give testimony at either trial, and was never convicted of any crime. The Bathory family walled Elizabeth up within her bed chamber, with only small slits for ventilation and the passing of food. Three years later, a guard looking through one of the slots saw the Countess lying dead.

Elizabeth died in Castle Cachtice on 21 August, 1614. The bulk of her estate was divided, according to her will, between her children. She was taken from the castle and buried at her birthplace at Ecsed.

Her legend is powerful, dark and disturbing but is it true? In the second part of her story I will examine the “facts” and the few truly historical records that are available to explore this dark angel, her likeness hung in the black gallery, commanding unease, demanding of Death to breathe…